


The Willful Slaughter of Hope

by zarabithia



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: M/M, Renegade Dick, Working for Slade Rose
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-01
Updated: 2007-03-01
Packaged: 2019-05-20 07:53:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14890554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarabithia/pseuds/zarabithia
Summary: Three similar promises made, at three different times in Dick and Roy's lives.





	The Willful Slaughter of Hope

**Author's Note:**

> The bolded text was not written by me. They all come from canon. The first passage is from _Tales of the Teen Titans, #59,_ written by Marv Wolfman. The second passage is from _Action Comics Weekly_ 613, written by Marv Wolfman, and the final passage comes from _Nightwing 114,_ written by Devin Grayson.
> 
> Title comes from: _"One should rather die than be betrayed. There is no deceit in death. It delivers precisely what it has promised. Betrayal, though . . . betrayal is the willful slaughter of hope." - Steven Deitz_

**"Roy, what happened? I’m sure you didn’t drop in just for a social call."**  
"Yeah. Something’s wrong, Dick. . . . real wrong, and I need your help."  
"You’ve got it, Roy -- you know that." 

Fighting alongside Speedy again had felt so right that it takes everything in Robin to push down the disappointment he feels when Speedy declines membership into the new group of Titans. The childish part of Dick wants to yell at his friend, tell him he’s being selfish in choosing a new life and job over a team that should be _theirs_ , even as the he can’t help but be proud of the happiness Speedy’s found without them. . .without _him._

Alone in the Tower, Robin rubs at his own eyes before scowling at the cold white ceiling. He’s as ashamed of his own selfishness - because really, there’s not a better word for wanting Roy to change his life around to suit _Robin_ \- as he is envious of the other man’s ability to move past his need for a mentor, for a team, for a _partner._ His ever-growing rift with Bruce weighs heavily in the back of his mind, and Dick’s able to admit, if only to himself within the confines of his darkened room, that wanting Speedy to stay isn’t merely because he misses his old pal. He does indeed miss the familiar sparring practices, along with all of the verbal and physical blows they’d exchanged. But just as Speedy’s arrows had always been able to pinpoint a weak spot in Robin’s fighting skills, Roy’s recent arrival makes it abundantly clear that Dick needs his fellow mortal sidekick to show him how to fly solo. . . and how to be _happy_ doing it. Because if Speedy had found a way, then it can't be as impossible as it seems in the part of Dick's mind that knows the fear he hasn't dared voice to anyone, including Bruce, is inevitable.

That unspoken fear starts to tighten in his chest, and is moving towards his throat when Dick hears footsteps outside his room. He’s on guard until the sound of the hand fiddling with the door is joined by another, far more familiar sound, of arrows jiggling in a quiver. Leaning back in bed, he relaxes and waits for the intruder to figure out the entry for himself. After all, it never hurts to test both the Tower’s security and the government’s training of his friend.

Roy finally gains entry into the room in an amount of time that isn’t really impressive, but Dick forgoes a critique of his friend’s efforts as the even more familiar sound of Speedy’s quiver hitting the floor is accompanied by a haphazard and hurried boot removal, resulting in those particular pieces of the costume hitting the wall with a loud thump. They are, Dick realizes for not the first time, two of his favorite sounds in the world, and he wonders if telling Roy how much he’s missed those sounds would make him stay.

"Who the fuck built this tower?" Roy demands as his hat flies in the general direction of his boots. "And who were they trying to prevent getting laid, other than me?"

"Actually, it was built by -"

"Don’t care, Robbie. It was a rhetorical question."

"My mistake. Not used to such deep thoughts hidden in your verbal rhetoric."

"Yeah? Well, you can blame the change on the frustration that the amount of time it took me get in here is longer than most of my dates last."

"That’s. . . really sad, Roy."

"My point, exactly." The top half of the Roy’s costume lands next to the quiver, and the pants land in a third heap several feet away. "I was beginning to think you were trying to keep me out."

"No, of course not." To prove his point, Dick throws the sheets back as an invitation.

Roy’s close enough that Dick can see the once-over the redhead gives him, and he delights in it. Until Roy laughs. "Pajama bottoms? You _still_ cover more skin to go to bed than you do in battle."

In reply, Dick’s pajama bottoms land next to Speedy’s, and there is little discernable talking immediately following that action.

But later, when both boys have been sated, and Dick is busing marveling over the transformation Roy’s body has made since the last time they saw each other, Roy murmurs a question into the back of Dick’s neck. The breath tickles, but Dick doesn’t pull away, even as he lies to the man in his bed.

"I get it, Roy. You have to strike out on your own, prove yourself to Ollie -"

"And to myself. It’s not just about Ollie, Dick."

"I understand. We all have to go it alone at some point, right? I’m just glad you’re happy."

He’s known Speedy for a long time, and is usually able to guess the other man’s movements pretty well. But he doesn’t suspect the smack to the back of the head that Roy delivers in time to dodge it. "Ow! What was _that_ for?"

"You, lying through your teeth. And don’t think you’ll be rid of me that easily, Short Pants. I plan to bug you for the rest of your existence, just like my asshole mentor does with your asshole mentor."

"Really? That would make us an awful lot like them," Dick points out.

"Eh. Bugging Bats is about the only good thing Olle’s ever done. Well, that and Dinah. But we aren’t going to talk about her while I’m still naked." Dick giggles both from the mental image he is sure Roy has and from the feel of Roy’s breath continuing to tickle his neck. It earns him another playful tap upside the head before Roy whispers softly, "I told you - and the others - that I wasn’t going to be a stranger, even though I can’t join you guys. And I meant it."

"Promise?" It’s pathetic, and Dick would regret his weakness, if he didn’t need the reassurance so badly.

"Sure thing, Robbie. It’s kind of obvious you need me to come around every now and then, anyway."

"It is?" Dick wonders if his neediness is as obvious to the rest of the team as it is to Roy. God, he hopes it isn’t.

"Yeah. The rest of these guys are treating you like some kind of leader, or something. If I’m not around to tell you otherwise, you might get a permanent stick stuck, like dear old Bats."

Dick laughs and turns around to face Roy, his fears of being alone momentarily forgotten.

~~~****~~~***~~~****~~~***~~~****~~~***~~~****~~~***~~~****~~~***

**"Please. . . Please say you'll help me. . . Help the C.B.I. . . . We can't let her succeed."  
"Okay. .. Yeah, Sure. I understand. Cheshire, huh? Not good, Amigo. Definitely not good."**

_God, it’s been so long_ is Dick’s first thought the minute Roy’s hand reaches up and touches his face while he’s in the middle of adjusting the red-head’s sheets. Roy is injured, and Dick’s only goal in coming into his hotel room had been to make sure his friend was okay. The poison Cheshire had knocked him out with had the potential to be lethal, in higher doses, and the memory of how Roy’s cold, still body had felt in his hands still sends goosebumps along the back of Dick's neck.

Speaking of hands, however, Roy’s apparently have less pure intentions, if the way they’re groping him is any indication. Such a tempting offer, and he knows that Kory wouldn’t mind. . . still, "We can’t, Roy."

"Why not?" Roy’s words aren’t as demanding as the hands that begin to wander, searching for a way to undo Nightwing’s suit. Dick smirks to himself in the dark, as he realizes that Roy’s still looking in the same spot the clasp had been located on his old short pants.

"You’re injured, Roy, in case you haven’t noticed."

"I’m not _that_ injured."

"Injured enough to be in a wheelchair for at least another three weeks, according to the doctors."

"And you make a cute little concerned nurse, really, Dick. I’ll have to remember that the next time I come to the Tower. Think they have roleplay on Tamaran?"

". . . Yes, they do." Roy’s playing dirty now, sliding his hands between Dick’s legs and pressing in the exact right crevice to drive away his protests. He should probably think about additional protection to his costume if Roy’s touch could be that sensitive through the material. "Roy, I don’t think we should-"

"Didn’t you miss me?"

" _Yes,_ " he answers immediately. "But I don’t want to hurt you. And the doctors said no strenuous activity for another week."

Roy shrugs, and those demanding hands grab Dick’s and pull him down to the bed. "So, fucking’s out of the question. But my mouth still works. And so do my hands. A little blow job here, a little jerking off there, a little frottage over there. . . "

"Frottage? Since when do you use words like _frottage._ ?"

Roy sighs, his irritation at Dick’s continued resistance peeking through. "I’ve been gone a while, Short Pants. Learned a lot of things."

Dick fights down the jealousy he has no right to feel, not with Kory back home. But it’s different, somehow, knowing that Roy is off sleeping with anyone that moves - the mother of the baby in the next room of the suite is proof of that - than Dick’s own complicated relationship with Kory, which has made room for Roy on more than one occasion.

Getting jealous won’t solve anything, though. "Talk’s cheap, Harper. Show me, instead?"

Roy’s chuckle is equal parts amused and exasperated. "That’s what I’ve been _trying_ to do, Robbie. You have far too many clothes on, though."

Eager to please and suddenly very certain that his acrobatic skills will prevent him from hurting Roy, Dick reaches backwards and undoes the clasp Roy’s insistent hands hadn’t quite been able to find. Roy’s eyes follow Dick’s hands, taking careful note of the location of the clasp.

Dick relishes the attentive look, taking it as proof that Roy is memorizing the location for future reference. It’s enough to give Dick hope that neither the baby in the next room nor the girlfriend back home will change the connection that has always existed between them.

~~~****~~~***~~~****~~~***~~~****~~~***~~~****~~~***~~~****~~~***

**"Do me a personal favor, Roy?"**  
"Sure, man. Anything."  
"Don't get up."

_Liabilities,_ Daddy calls them. Daddy’s always warning her about Dick’s ties to the hero world, connections to the people he cares about - people who can take Renegade away from them and make him go back to being _Nightwing._ Rose has never believed him before. The fun, loving, and cheerful man that had once had attachments has never been anywhere to be seen, as far as Rose could tell.

But as Rose watches the exchange between Renegade and Arsenal with growing irritation, it becomes clear that her father is right about everything he’s said about Renegade. The low slump of his shoulders, the way his head hangs . . . the way he _allows_ Arsenal’s hand to linger on his shoulders in a manner completely opposite of the way he tenses whenever she or Daddy touches him. . . Arsenal is a living liability that Renegade hasn’t shaken, despite all claims to the contrary.

Rose won’t allow that. Renegade is part of their family now, and no one is going to pull that apart. Not even the man whose daughter she’d once cared for.

She comes to her decision before Renegade’s first kick. Somewhere between the first punch and the second kick, she decides the exact method of getting rid of the one thing that threatens to take her family away from her. The best part of her whole plan is that Renegade takes care of knocking Arsenal down for her. It’s good to have such a skilled partner.

"Is he okay?" She asks, staring down at the crumpled form of the hero.

"Come on. We need to get that serum." Renegade doesn’t answer her question, and he doesn’t need to, because his shoulders are still slumped. Rose grits her teeth, and wonders why such a skilled fighter doesn’t know better than to repeat his mistakes in battle.

It’s a question that repeats itself in Rose’s mind as Renegade turns away from her for the second time that evening, showing both Arsenal and Rose his back. It turns out to be a fatal flaw, as Rose takes advantage of the mistake to draw her weapon. Renegade starts to turn back around the minute he hears her; he is fast, but Ravager is faster.

She makes the kill quick, out of consideration for the family that she used to be a part of. But she also makes certain he doesn’t get the chance to utter any last words. His presence has already done enough damage for the evening.

Renegade stumbles forward, stalling long enough to take in the sight of Roy’s wounds. She watches him calculate the locations and extents of the injuries, and sees the realization dawn on his face a split second before he shoves her up against the nearest wall.

"What have you done?" She’s not sure who this person is. . . he’s too emotional to be Renegade, and too angry to be Nightwing. His hands, one on each shoulder blade, alternate between digging into her skin and shaking so badly that she could easily knock her mentor for a loop.

The part of her that is frightened by his reaction wants to, but she holds her ground and looks at him steadily. "I eliminated the _enemy,_ Renegade."

Daddy always says that the eyemask is the most powerful weaponry that Nightwing carries, and Rose hadn’t really understood that. But she understands it now, as his grip grows tighter, his mouth narrows, and she has no idea what he’s thinking.

She has a better idea of what he’s thinking when he lets go of her and falls to his knees beside the body. His back is turned to her again, but Rose is too busy focusing on the broken words that Renegade half sobs over Arsenal’s corpse to focus on that flaw.

Stepping forward, she is encouraged by the fact that Dick doesn’t move at all to pull away from her touch when she lies her hands on his shoulders. "You’re wrong, Renegade," she says firmly. "You have me and Daddy. You won’t ever be alone ever again."

Renegade’s sobs give way to a cold, almost shrill bark of laughter that makes Rose abruptly let go and step backwards away from him as he turns to look at her. "Promise?"

"O-of course."

"Didn’t keep his promise," Renegade mutters. Turning away from her, he wraps his arms around the corpse. As Rose watches him continue to mutter into the body, she wonders if killing the liability only made him a larger distraction. She’s forced to concede that it might have, as the minutes tick past without being able to get Renegade to move, and she is forced to signal the only other person who can.

She just hopes Renegade stops apologizing to the dead man by the time Daddy arrives.

~~~****~~~***~~~****~~~***~~~****~~~***~~~****~~~***~~~****~~~***


End file.
